


Marked

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF!John, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-27
Updated: 2012-06-27
Packaged: 2017-11-08 16:00:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/444930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chasing after criminals can be exhilarating. Being with John? Even more so. </p>
<p>Written for or <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/sherlockbbc/1861019.html?thread=24385435#t24385435">this</a> request: BAMF, Posessive!John and proud!Sherlock showing off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marked

The first time was fueled by adrenalin and pure lust – the moment it was safe, the moment they heard the running footsteps fade, John shoved Sherlock against the wall.

“Don’t… do… that again,” John gasped, his breath hot against the exposed skin of Sherlock’s throat. “You and your… bloody scarf.”

“John, you can’t expect…” Sherlock began, intending to protest when he felt John’s lips attacking his neck, licking and sucking. He began to protest, the usual lines: _married to my work, flattered, but not interested…_ , but the thought of doing that, of removing John’s lips, teeth and tongue from his suddenly hyper-sensitive skin, was abhorrent. 

“Never…” John was biting at his neck, his left hand scrabbling with Sherlock’s belt. “Run…” 

The right hand held him firmly against the wall. “Off like that,” John finished. “Not where I can’t come find you.”

“John,” Sherlock moaned, his world narrowing to the points of contact with the other man.   
Against his thigh, he could feel John’s hardness. Time to retaliate. John wasn’t the only one who could play this game. 

Sherlock lowered his head, capturing John’s mouth in a savage kiss that left both of them breathless as he tried to turn them, to push John against the wall. 

“Oh, no you don’t,” John muttered. “Don’t you move.”  
Sherlock grinned against John’s temple, moving his hands down the other man’s coat, finding the opening at the top and pushing the zip down. 

“Sherlock,” John gasped as Sherlock’s hands found his waistband and undid the button and zip, delving beneath the fabric. 

It was a battle: pushing, pulling, groping, and shoving as John pressed him into the hard brick, his mouth never leaving his collarbone. Sherlock fought back, tugging (this was no time to be gentle) the other man’s cock as John ground against him, _his_ free hand pushing against Sherlock’s own hardness.

“Is that what you desire, John?” Sherlock asked, giving an extra pull as John moaned, biting down on the soft skin. Wetness seeped between Sherlock’s fingers. 

“Fuck, Sherlock,” John gasped, breaking the kiss and resting his head on the other man’s shoulder. 

“Good?” Sherlock asked, trying not to grind against John – he was achingly hard. 

“Fuck…”

“Really, John, if you’re offering…” _Don’t ask, you know he won’t, know he doesn’t like… won’t admit to…_

“Sherlock, shut up, I can hear you.”

John took a deep breath and touched the mark on Sherlock’s collarbone. 

“You look so pretty,” John murmured. “Marked.”

“John…”

“Such a pretty mark,” John said. “Up against the wall, I want to suck you. Just as you are now. Helpless. I want to hear that pretty mouth of yours curse, Sherlock.”

“John…” As if his knowledge of the English language had deteriorated to a single word, Sherlock struggled for coherency. 

And then all thoughts of language vanished as John unzipped his fly, pulled aside the fabric of his y-fronts and took his cock into his mouth. 

“ _John!_ ”

* * *

They had to wait a bit afterwards – John’s trousers had an embarrassing stain on them, and Sherlock had collapsed to his haunches. 

“All right?” John asked. 

Sherlock grinned, looking up at his flat mate. Lover? 

“I think… I think a bed next time,” John laughed, looking at his trousers.

“Sherlock! Sherlock!” 

“Noises off,” Sherlock said weakly.

“Lestrade,” John said, fiddling with the front of his shirt, pulling it down.

“Don’t be ridiculous John,” Sherlock said, pulling himself up. “Even though the whole alley smells of sex, Lestrade’ll never notice.”

“Notice what? I’ve been looking all over for you two!” 

“Ah, Inspector, you’ll find that Panzo is, in fact the murderer, but he won’t get far…”

“Yeah, thanks, we’ve already caught him, thanks to your texts. I _can_ read, you know.”

“Good. Shall we?” Sherlock asked, opening his arm to guide them out of the alley.

“Yeah, wait…” Lestrade paused, sniffing the air suspiciously.   
Sherlock grinned as Lestrade took in the evidence: John’s ruined trousers and embarrassed expression, Sherlock’s tousled clothing and what he supposed was a lovely, purpling bruise at the vee of his shirt. His grin widened as the flush crept up Lestrade’s neck.

“Yeah, never mind. Let’s go.”

“Anything you say, Inspector.” Sherlock graciously bowed him out of the alley.

**Author's Note:**

> Not mine, no money. Bluey puts up with so much from me, she deserves a medal!


End file.
